I've Got The Scars From Tomorrow
by babybluecas
Summary: A slight change in Cas's appearance triggers Dean's memories of his short trip to the year 2014. Luckily, it's nothing that can't be dealt with, with a right amount of shaving cream and a razor. Cas is stubborn, Dean has a story to tell and they both learn something important.


First thing Dean notices upon waking up is that his terrible cough, that hasn't let him be for over two weeks now, has left his throat in a horrific shape and his head still feels heavy, although it looks like the fever has passed, too. It takes him a moment to realize that it wasn't a fit of cough that woke him up, but the loud thud and the noises from outside of his room. Normally, his first reaction would be reaching for the gun hidden under the pillow, but living in the safest place on the planet, warded against every kind of malevolent thing in creation has its perks.

"Guys?" he calls out only as loud as his sore throat lets him, but he still gets a gravelly response of "it's us!"

He can't help a smile at the sound of Cas' voice, because damn, that hunt took him and Sam way too long, while Dean had to stay in the Bat Cave alone for the entire week, sleeping, getting high on cough syrup and going completely crazy. He actually had to struggle not to call them every half an hour like a concerned, annoying girlfriend, but of course he'd never admit it. So instead he busied himself with marathoning Dr. Sexy M.D. and in the meantime he swore to himself he'd never let Sam and Cas go hunting without him again.

He pushes himself off his mattress much less gracefully than he'd like, thankful no one sees him, and grabs his robe. He runs his fingers through his hair sticking out in all directions in a failed attempt to make himself look at least slightly presentable. Not that he needs to look presentable for Cas. The guy's seen his rotting body once and put it back together, after all.

Dean completes his see-I-did-fine-without-you-but-I'm-glad-you're-back look with a grin and marches down the hallway. He stops abruptly and blinks a few times at the sight in the dayroom. Cas sits by the table and cleans his guns like he would after any other hunt, but it's something in his appearance that makes Dean's body go numb.

Cas keeps his legs under the table of course, not on it, because Cas could never be rude like that. Or at least not yet. He learns from the best after all and it's kind of the whole point to why Dean's head is spinning right now. It isn't about the shirt either, though Dean plans to throw the pale blue cloth away as soon as he can, even if it looks good on Cas. Anyway, it's not about the clothes, nor his mannerism, which couldn't change too much during his week away. It's about the fact that Cas was probably too lazy to pick up a razor, or just didn't care, which is even worse.

From the moment Cas first showed up at the Bat Cave's door, all scruffy, smelly and wide eyed, with a confession and an apology, Dean's mind couldn't escape a certain memory of a place not far away, especially with the calendar nearing the end of the year 2013.

And that broken, apocalyptic version of Cas didn't bear even half of the guilt his present self has weighing on his shoulders.

How has the guy held on so well for so long remains a mystery to Dean and all this time the hunter has been waiting for slightest signs of a breakdown. For all Dean knows, Cas should've turned into a miserable puddle of tears and despair months ago, yet he keeps holding his head up high and with clenched teeth welcomes each new day of combat. He's a fighter and he's apparently taken up Dean's technique of doing stuff and kicking asses instead of sulking.

So if his depression kicks in now, half a year after accidental contributing to utter destruction of heaven and losing all powers, well, there's only so much time you can borrow.

Cas puts down the gun and with a content moan stretches his back. That snaps Dean back to reality.

"What the fuck?" he mutters louder than he expected and gets Cas' attention.

"Hello, Dean," the fallen angel says, turning his head towards him. His voice sounds like always, his lips curl slightly up with a tiny smile and the familiar mantra of _Hello, Dean_ should calm the hunter's nerves down. But it doesn't.

"What _the fuck_ are you doing?" Dean barks out much more aggressively, looking at the half empty bottle of beer on the table.

Cas squints at him, seemingly more worried than phased by his outburst.

"Dean, are you still feverish?" he asks, voice filled with concern.

That gets Dean caught off guard. Before he can react, Cas reaches with his palm to touch Dean's forehead and then quickly runs tips of fingers through his hair as if that small gesture of deep care is something forbidden. And it probably is.

"I believe your body temperature is correct," he comments, completely oblivious to Dean's approaching panic attack.

"Temp- what? What the hell-" It takes Dean a moment to collect himself, before he gets back to his angry mode. "Go to the bathroom."

The confusion on Cas's face would be comical if his beard didn't make it so difficult to look at him. In other circumstances Dean wouldn't mind the beard, maybe he'd admit it suits Cas. Maybe even his fingers would itch to touch it, like they did in Purgatory. _Nice peach fuzz_. But Cas was still an angel back then and he was scruffy and dirty from the fight. Both of them were.

But now it's a different memory that overleapt the reality and another Cas looking at him with his eyes empty and foggy.

The whole innocence in Cas's puzzlement doesn't even matter anymore, because Dean is already five years ago and eight months ahead, in a crappy cabin in Camp Chitaqua, _Nowhere_.

"I took a shower in the motel, before we left," Cas answers so matter-of-factly, that Dean would probably laugh if he weren't gritting his teeth.

"Come on," he says and doesn't even wait for Cas's reaction, he just grabs the pale sleeve of his shirt and drags him out of the dayroom.

Cas doesn't put up resistance and just obediently follows him, probably out of sheer curiosity. Apparently, Dean's weird behavior made him unsure whether to be worried or amused.

Dean pushes the bathroom door open and lets go of Cas's sleeve by the sink.

"So, what now?" Castiel asks with an odd smirk on his face.

"Now…" Dean mutters, pulling out a can of shaving cream and a brand new razor out of a drawer, "now, you'll shave."

"What?" Cas decides on the _amused_ option and rises an eyebrow questioningly.

"Well, you've been a lazy ass this week, now you're home. Here, make yourself look presentable, I'll go make breakfast," Dean holds the tools out to the fallen angel and musters a wide grin.

"I'm not gonna do that," Castiel's voice is firm, the answer startles Dean.

"What?"

Since Sam first taught the freshly humanized Cas how to shave, Cas hasn't had any problems with it. He even refused Dean's suggestion to use the electric razor that'd leave the usual five o'clock shadow he sported as an angel. Now Cas seemed to like having his cheeks smooth like a baby's butt and Dean didn't mind it.

That is, until now, when Cas suddenly changed his mind, which left Dean facing a stubborn fallen angel, with arms crossed on his chest and lips pressed into a thin line. Needless to say, Dean is not only confused, but also slightly terrified.

He also kind of really wants to slap Castiel's stupid, hairy face.

"I said, I'm not gonna shave."

"And why the hell is that?" he asks, trying desperately not to sound pleading. "So what, you dig a hobo look now?"

"Well, maybe I do." A smug smile plays on his lips as he stares straight into Dean's eyes. "Or maybe I don't. I want to know what is _your_ business here, Dean?"

And that's when Dean realizes how screwed he is. He holds back a growl building up in his throat and, putting the razor and the can down, closes his eyes. He briefly weighs his possibilities. He can't exactly force Cas to do it. He could just give up and see how long this stubborn-fest will last – by Christmas, Cas would make a great Santa Clause. But then, Cas has no idea what this does to Dean, the images it awakes, the shivers it sends down his spine. As if Cas's newly discovered, flourishing sex life hasn't been enough of a reminder already.

Not that Dean cares who Cas has sex with, of course it's not about that.

Dean sighs resigned, because his third option is to tell the story. To tell him everything.

They were far from being this close, back then, in 2009. Was Cas a friend? Yeah, of course he was. The guy full-on rebelled against Heaven because of Dean, after all. What says _friend_ better than that? But most of all he was an ally in those desperate times. And you don't want to scare off your most powerful ally by telling him how much he'll lose, stupidly sticking by your side.

So a long story pretty quickly turned into a limerick and Cas never learned he had even been there. That was a pretty selfish move too, how could Dean admit what his future self's actions led to?

"No, uh-" he mutters finally, without looking at Cas. "I don't have any business here. Forget it."

Before he gets to leave the bathroom, Cas's palm squeezes his wrist.

"Dean, wait," the soft voice says.

Cas seems to have lost his cocky attitude for a moment, but it doesn't last long. Before Dean can ask him to let go, right corner of Cas's mouth goes back up and his body shifts, elevated by the fantastic idea that graced his mind. You could practically see the light bulb turning on and flooding the whole bathroom with its glory.

"You could tell me about the origin of your violent loathe towards my beard," he starts and doesn't get for answer more than Dean's attempt to free his hand, "or you could just get rid of it yourself."

And there it is: that self-complacent look on his hirsute face and a double-daring stare.

"You're fucking kidding me, right?" Dean tries to laugh it off, but he fails. This _is_ a ridiculous solution, isn't it? "You have your own hands."

"Yes, but I'm not the one who wants it off," he answers calmly.

"I don't think I'm that desperate."

"You look pretty desperate to me."

The whole situation is fucking grotesque. Cas is apparently having a lot of fun toying with Dean and making him believe he's overreacting like a teenage girl, while the ghost of the past – or the future, or… whatever – keeps mocking him with his amphetamines and his orgies. It crawls down his spine and writhes in his stomach and pulls at his wrist. And his wrist… Dean looks down and Castiel's palm is still there, long fingers wrapped around it firmly, all warm and soft. Dean could swear the temperature in the bathroom went up a few degrees, or maybe it's just him. At least he's sure now that the fever is gone.

"I'm not desperate," he murmurs, more to himself than to Cas, as he takes the can of shaving cream, just to get those fingers off his skin.

Cas is triumphant again and he's definitely enjoying it, leaning back comfortably, with his palms pressed to the edge of the commode, his posture open, inviting Dean to come closer, to touch him, to feel him, to breathe his air. And Dean knows he'll obey soon.

But for now he concentrates on the hiss of the spray breaking the strangely tense silence, on the dash of cream on his palm. He starts to smear it on Cas's cheeks with quick strokes, trying not to think about the way his fingers caress Cas's face. He's doing his best to get it done as fast as he can, while Cas just fucking stares, and smiles, and stares.

Dean takes a step back and inspects his work briefly, giving himself a moment to take a deep breath. Before he has to come close again, before their knees touch and Cas's smell mixed with the minty cream gets to Dean's nostrils again. He hears Cas opening the tap to let the water fill the sink, but he doesn't look up. Dean's moves are slow as he rips the razor's package, he nibs at the paper, rolls its pieces between his fingers and inspects them like they're the most interesting thing in the universe.

And then he decides on the utter surrender.

"It was back there, in two thousand fourteen." His voice is quiet when he starts.

Dean doesn't take his eyes off the plastic and paper so he can't see confusion on Cas's face, yet he continues.

"You know, when Zachariah Christmas Carol'd me into the future. Head back," he ends with a command which Cas obeys without hesitation and tilts back his head to expose his neck.

The concept of personal space ceases to exist, when Dean approaches Cas again and with the free hand holds his chin to prevent any movements. He makes the first pass along Cas's throat and cleans the blades before he adds:

"I never told you, but you were there, too."

There's one pass and second and third and Cas finally reacts.

"And I had a beard."

It surely isn't the response Dean's been expecting so he huffs out the smallest chuckle and nods, but the bitterness in Cas's next words makes his guts twist.

"What was I?"

Dean swallows loudly and finishes the neck. Like he expected, he regrets ever starting the topic. His only answer is: _the same thing that you are now, only more broken_ and it sounds so brutal.

"You were human," he says instead, but it doesn't satisfy Cas.

"I figured that much, Dean." His eyes are piercing through Dean and there's something visible in them, some mixture of self-hatred and worry and just a dash of fear, as he asks. "But what did I _do_ to you?"

"Oh God, Cas, no," Dean reacts quickly. "It's not that."

"Then what?"

"You just _were_ there," Dean mutters through tight throat "You stayed. With me. You stupid, stupid…"

His left hand slides down Cas's shirt and grabs the fabric for a second, before Dean regains his composure.

"Well, of course I stayed," Cas answers, with a tiny smile fighting the confusion on his brow.

And Dean wants to shake him, wipe this look off his face and make him understand. Because yes, he stayed, and it was so wrong, yet Cas's tone sounds like staying was such an obvious thing to do, like he'd stay over and over again, nevermind the price. But if he did know the price…

"You were a junkie," Dean bursts out finally.

His body tenses, lips squeeze into a thin line, as he awaits Cas's reaction.

When Dean once asked him what it felt like to become a human, soon after the guy had finally found them. His answer was rather vague: _it's more like feeling than being_. Dean had no idea what it meant, but he could bet it could be compared to hitting the ground after a long, awesome acid trip.

In such case, it would probably be the best idea to look for help in drugs and orgasm and booze. Hell, how many times has Dean done it himself, anything, just to forget for a moment, feel different or not feel at all. And he's never had any wings to lose.

So when _life_ happened to Cas and he's hit the ground in the worst way possible, who was Dean to judge, or expect anything else. Except this was _his_ Cas and if he had a way of stopping it, he's sure as hell gonna use it.

"Oh," Castiel's reaction lacks shock, disgust or even unease.

"Oh?" Dean echoes, irritated.

Is this all he has to say about all the nightmares Dean's had for the past six months?

"Yeah."

"What does an 'oh' mean?"

"That I'm quite sure that you have taken more drugs in your life than I ever will."

"Yeah?" The answer takes Dean aback and makes him spew out the next words in a breathless litany. "But you also drank. And you fucked. You were a fucking hippie. With orgies and absinthe and…"

"Absinthe?" Cas interrupts him, surprised at the word. As if the green, mesmerizing substance meant to him something more than just a drink.

"Yeah, you said you use amphetamines for absinthe or whatever. Dude, where'd you even find it there?"

"Well, absinthe _is_ to die for."

There's a playful smile on his lips, like he knows something Dean doesn't know and it only pisses Dean off more. He lets out an annoyed growl.

"Dean," this time Cas sounds completely serious, finally, "are you worried it will happen to me?"

His palm lands on Dean's shoulder and the hunter feels so small and vulnerable under Castiel's earnest gaze, he can't even open his mouth, he just nods, slowly, down and up.

The way Cas looks at him with such softness and sincerity, it's one hundred percent _his_ Cas and he's surely not having any orgies any time soon.

And that's when Dean can't stand it anymore.

First thing he feels is the stickiness of the shaving cream and its distinct smell. Then comes the softness and the warmth and a light touch of Cas's palm on his neck. Dean's first reaction is panic, but he tamps it down, because, damn, it feels good. It's not even a proper kiss. Their lips are just touching and it's pretty silly, really, but it's also wonderful and he's wanted it for so long. This closeness, the touch, the safety. He huffs out a laughter and feels Cas's lips reshape into a smile. Ex-angel's fingers run through short hair at his nape and Dean takes it as his cue. He deepens the kiss and Cas follows so easily, sucking gently at his lip and simultaneously massaging his scalp.

When Dean finally breaks the kiss, he doesn't feel the world change, but he knows it did change, at least for him and for Cas. Cas presses their foreheads together, cradling Dean's face in his palms and Dean realizes he's never felt this safe before.

"Oh," now it's Dean who doesn't need words and when he looks at Cas, the guy is grinning sappily.

"Oh?" Cas echoes and Dean can't help but chuckle.

Cas reaches for a towel and wipes the smeared cream off Dean's jaw and Dean doesn't care how unmanly it must look, because he just kissed his best friend and he felt just as manly as ever. It felt like the fucking best thing in the world.

"And for the future," Cas says as Dean resumes shaving like nothing happened, "you should learn to talk first, before acting like… that."

"Oh yeah?" Dean smirks. "Acting how? Like this?" he asks and kisses him again.

"This can stay," Cas decides completely serious and purses his mouth to give the razor access to the mustache.

Dean wouldn't have thought his little tantrum could lead to this. But if he were true to himself, this was long overdue. But he'd never admit it of course. And he definitely doesn't feel much calmer about the love guru situation, but for now, he's gonna take Cas on a word. Or a kiss, actually, since he didn't give him any promises. And later? Well, with this whole new thing as a brand new weapon, Dean's sure he'll manage to keep Cas on the right rails.

"Did you really like it? The beard?"

"Well, it was warmer. I can always grow it back," he teases and chuckles as he sees Dean's eyes go wide.

"No, don't. Don't." Dean shakes his head quickly and cups Cas' cheek to finish shaving.

He might be going a little bit slower and maybe, just maybe stand a tiny bit closer to Cas. And if he steals a kiss or two in the meantime… Well, there's no one there to tell.

* * *

><p>Title from "My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark" by Fall Out Boy<p> 


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